


The Pink Shirt And The Motorcycle

by kayd (KayD)



Category: Psych
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Whoa, like the date on the document is 2011, this is old as dirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3283055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayD/pseuds/kayd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn wants to know if Lassie really was the one who pulled his bike out of the auction. Lassiter, of course, would never admit to such kindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pink Shirt And The Motorcycle

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously. I wrote the original when I was still in High School. Wow. Throwback Thursday on a Tuesday! It's been revised so hopefully it's even cuter than the first time I wrote it.

It had been a long day. It was always a long day as a detective with the Santa Barbara police department, but today in particular... Today was a pain in his ass. Almost entire because of ONE pain in his ass. Professional pain-in-the-ass loud mouth touchy no respect for personal space extraordinaire, Shawn Spencer. He had been all over Carlton, all day, doing his best to get as much in Carlton's face as possible. He kept pushing buttons he had no right to push - buttons he shouldn't even be able to push. He spent the whole afternoon touching Carlton every second he got, getting into his private personal bubble, ruffling Carlton's feathers while wiggling his body all over in 'psychic premonitions'.

Even as Carlton tried to find solace - not hiding, no never hiding - in the filing room in the quiet part of the precinct, he knew it would only be so long. He heard the door swing open and braced himself, but he couldn't be ready for the sheer echo of that voice in this small space.

"Heeeey Lassie! Been trying to find you for hours. Buzz said you hide down here sometime, thought I'd join you. Who're we hiding from?"

The tone was playful, but the body language Carlton saw from the corner of his eye showed more serious intent. Carlton gave only silence in response. He feigned disinterest, tried to keep the tension from his shoulders as he moved around the room. For a moment, Shawn was quiet, which was odd, and motionless which was even odder. Carlton shot him a glance and a glare. Shawn was watching him, leaning on the door he'd shut behind him, trying to look bored and failing. His eyes were scanning him, searching. There was a question in them, and knowing Spencer, he wouldn't be able to keep it in for long.

"Why?"

Ah. How vague. How Spencer.

"Why what, Spencer?" Carlton asked, tone immediately impatient and eyebrows set to displeased.

"Why would you have them pull my bike from the auction?" Shawn pushed off the door and took a step closer, eyes still asking, "That was nice! You did something nice for me. Why would you do something so un-Lassie?"

"What makes you think it was me?" Carlton asked dismissively, sidestepping Shawn in an fruitless attempt to leave. Shawn blocked his way and pushed into his personal bubble, bringing their faces in close.

"Oh, come on, Lass, give me some credit. Who else?"

"O'hara," Carlton scoffed, the lack of space between them becoming evident and uncomfortable. He felt his face get warm and his palms sweat. "Or Chief Vick."

Shawn scoffed.

"Jules doesn't have to authority and Vick wouldn't have the compassion. Now, I thought you didn't either, but could it be," Shawn raised his hand to his cheek in a mock look of shock, "that under all that gruff and stuffed Irish cop exterior beats the hot blooded heart of a... lover?"

He purred the word lover. Of course he did. Carlton rolled his eyes, and pushed Shawn aside, fully intending on leaving without another word. Shawn grabbed his arm as he stepped by and pulled him back. Their chests pressed together and Carlton could feel the thudding of both their hearts. The flush he felt in his face spread down his neck as he heated up. This was too close. Much too close for him to deal with. Shawn's eyes, now inches from his, were a hazy green and full of smug comprehension and hope.

"Do you have a heart, Lassie?"

Carlton's hands twitched. He did not have the patience for this. He grabbed Shawn's lapels and pushed him roughly into a file cabinet, making both the cabinet and Shawn shake. This time, Carlton invaded Shawn's personal space, close enough for the tips of their noses to brush. He brought his body right up against Shawn's, pressed his hips to Shawn's, fought the very primal urge to grind them there. He watched Shawn with raised eyebrows, and was more than pleased when Shawn pushed back against him. He felt the heat from him and grinned devilishly.

"Maybe that's what I'm trying to prove. Maybe you 'read my aura' wrong when you first met me, Spencer - maybe I have more 'heart' than you think... Or maybe," he stepped back abruptly, letting Shawn slump back onto the cabinet, one of his hands reaching up to smooth flat the bunches in Shawn's shirt.   
He looked at Shawn with salacious intent and murmured, "Or maybe you just look too damn good in that pink shirt of yours."

He retreated completely, straightened his suit and stepped out the door with a smug, "See you around, Spencer."

For a few long seconds, Shawn stayed frozen, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, before his body followed his hormones into overdrive. He dashed to the door and called out to Lassiter's retreating back.

"Does this means you want me around more often?!"

He heard Carlton snort and his reply echoed back, light and pleasant.

"Never in a million years, Spencer."

Shawn smiled to himself and leaned back against the door-frame, contented. He called out one last time, always needing the last word.

"I can get more pink shirts, you know!"

Carlton's responding laugh was immensely satisfying.


End file.
